So I do.
I turn and bolt. Not caring who’s watching.
The air outside hits my lungs like a slap, cold and sharp. I spot the black car immediately and rush toward it, pushing open the door and sliding in like I’m being chased — because in a way, I am.
Mike glances at me from the driver’s seat, alarmed and brows pinched.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, eyeing me carefully. “Did something happen inside?”
I quickly shake my head, forcing a tight smile even though my chest is still heaving. I type a quick message and show him:
No. Just too crowded in there. I’m fine.
He doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway and pulls out of the lot.
I let my body melt into the seat, finally letting out the breath I’ve been holding since I saw him. My head drops back against the headrest. I close my eyes, trying to reel myself back in.
My heart’s still tied in a knot, and the panic hasn’t left. It’s just… muted now and pressed into silence like I’ve trained myself to do.
It’s Tyler’s birthday.
I won’t let him or any of them take this from me.
Not today.
***
The rest of the day moves in a blur, like muscle memory, like I’ve trained my brain to shut down and perform after breaking. There’s a pressure in my chest that won’t go away, a trembling under my skin that no one else can see. I feel the panic coming in slow waves, like the kind that drag you under when you’re already too tired to swim. But I keep moving.
I don’t stop.
I will not go insane or all panic mode during Tyler’s day; I don’t have to make everything about myself.
The chef arrived earlier and started working on the mini dinner and pastries, but I couldn’t even welcome her properly. I was too busy trying to outrun my thoughts. I focus on the balcony—the lights, the candles, the plates, the stupid ribbon I’ve fixed and re-fixed a dozen times. It’s all ready. All done. But my hands still won’t stop. I keep straightening what’s already straight. Checking things that are already fine.
I have to stay distracted.
I have to keep going.
I can’t let myself fall apart. Not now.
I glance at my phone for the fifth time in a minute, willing Mike’s message to come through. My chest tightens like it’s bracing for a collapse.
After a while, Mike texts me that he has arrived.
I exhale shakily and walk towards the elevator, trying to appear calm. But my fingers won’t stop tugging at the hem of my sweater. My heart is thudding too fast, like it’s trying to outrun something that’s already inside me.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors slide open, Tyler steps in with a curious look, then his mouth drops open—
“Dude. What the hell.”
His voice echoes through the penthouse entrance, eyes wide as he takes in the sweeping marble floors and endless windows drenched in golden city light.
And something inside me… softens.
It doesn’t disappear—not all of it. The fear is still there, lodged somewhere deep. But just seeing him here eases my panic, and I couldn’t help but smile and motion for him to follow me.
“I mean, I know your man is rich,” Tyler says, walking beside me, head tilted back to look at the tall ceilings, “but I didn’t know he lives in this paradise. I swear this is like… twenty grand a month or something.”
